


The Consequences of Interfering

by theSapphireSky



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, FLUUUUUUFFFF, JUST THIS ONCE I PROMISE, Rosie is just like Mary, Shenanigans, for my fluffy purposes, not really compliant with The Final Problem, seriously, the ILY scene didn't happen, this is just a whallop of Sherlolly goodness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 12:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9548432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: Rosie Watson wants her godparents to finally get together. But leaving them to their own devices isn't working.





	1. The Interference

Uncle Sherlock was plucking his violin in agitation, his leg bouncing and a scowl on his face as his glared burned a hole into the woman sitting opposite him.

In Dad’s old chair, Aunt Molly was curled up, drinking her tea and flipping through an old science book, absolutely content.

From her place on the couch, Rosie analyzed the situation, a plan forming in her mind.

Aunt Molly had been bustling about all week, cleaning and humming and generally content to look after the Consulting Detective in Mrs Hudson’s absence while the landlady was off to some foreign land with her latest beau.

Uncle Sherlock was in a strop, staring at her constantly and only looked away when she caught him looking. He had declared on multiple occasions that he did not want to be looked after like some errant child.

And if Baker Street was more of a disaster than usual… well, who was Rosie to assume that is was purposeful?

She shook her head.

Her godparents were such idiots, sometimes.

oOo

Rosie followed her aunt into the kitchen. ‘You have to get him out of here, he’s going to shoot the wall again! Take him out on a case or something! Isn’t there a cooler of body parts at Bart’s you could lock him in?’

‘As if that silly lock could hold him,’ Molly laughed and set the dirty tea cups in the sink. ‘Just wait, he will get a good case, a Nine or a Ten, any day now and be running about London working off all that energy.’

Rosie inwardly groaned as her aunt began to gather the rest of the dirty dishes from around the kitchen and filled the sink with soapy water.

Well, if Aunt Molly wouldn’t listen, she would have to work on Uncle Sherlock.

oOo

‘Uncle Sherlock?’

He grunted but didn’t look away from glaring at Molly, who was happily bleaching the kitchen counters.

'I think Aunt Molly needs to get out for a bit.’

His fingers tightened around the neck of his violin. 'Why?’

Rosie sat down on the arm of his chair and crossed her arms. 'Because eventually she will clean out every inch of this place, and that includes your experiments in the vegetable crisper.’

A flash of panic crossed her uncle’s face.

'Take her for a walk; fresh air might do her some good, she has been breathing in way too much cleaning product. And get something to eat, the only edible things in this flat are classified under cannibalism.’

Well, that made Sherlock jump into action.

'Molly!’ Sherlock leapt to his feet.

Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, Molly looked up. 'What?’

He hesitated momentarily, so Rosie gave him an encouraging shove. He stumbled forward and sent her a glare over his shoulder.

'Would you like to…’

’…solve a case?’

’…have dinner?’ Sherlock blinked when they both spoke at the same time.

Molly straightened up. A blush rose on her cheeks. 'Oh.’

With another less than gentle shove from Rosie, Sherlock stepped into the kitchen. 'How does Angelo’s sound?’

'It sounds wonderful, but I’m not really hungry.’

Rosie grimaced and dropped her head into her hand. _Oh, for the love of God, Aunt Molly! He is finally asking you out and you say you’re not hungry!_

Sherlock cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed. 'I see.’

But then a smile spread across Molly’s face. 'I think I can work up an appetite on a case, though.’

Instantly, Sherlock’s face lit up. As he spun around, Rosie picked up his mobile and tossed it to him.

She winked at him when he caught it. A fond smile creased his face.

Molly quickly peeled off her protective gloves and hurried to put her coat on. 'So, what case are we going to take?’

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and tossed her the phone. 'Whichever one you want.’

'Really?’ Molly asked excitedly. Before he could even answer, she had unlocked his phone and was scrolling through his emails. Rosie beamed proudly as the two of them made their way out the door, Sherlock’s hand on Molly’s back.

'Oh, Sherlock, let’s take this one!’

Sherlock’s incredulous bellow echoed up the stairs. 'A missing cat?! Molly Hooper, we are not taking this ridiculous case!’

'You said it was my choice, now put on your gloves and scarf, it’s cold outside,’ came Molly’s stern reply.

'But Molly!’

The sound of the door closing behind them cut off their good-natured bickering. Rosie grinned smugly to herself and sauntered downstairs to 221C.

Her dad was snoozing on the couch and she dropped down beside him. He woke with a start and looked at her blearily.

'Hey. Have they killed each other already?’

Rosie just laughed and tucked herself against his side.

It was only a matter of time now.

oOo

Who would have expected that a simple case of a runaway cat would lead Sherlock and Molly into a nest of smugglers, resulting in a grand chase across London, finding the kidnapped son of a foreign leader, and an unexpected proposal in the back of a police car with Sherlock in handcuffs?

Well, since when did anyone in their family do anything even remotely normal? Rosie smirked as she took a generous bite of rich wedding cake and proudly watched her godparents waltz around the room.


	2. The Consequences

Greg thanked the angry Detective Sergeant and jotted the final notes in his pad before turning away. The clean-up crew were finishing up and one by one the Yarders were leaving the scene. 

He sighed and tucked his pad into his inner pocket as he walked toward his car. It was going to be a long drive back to Scotland Yard.

He slid into the front seat, turned the car on, and peeled away from the curb. 

‘So,’ he broke the silence as he merged onto the expressway. ‘What’s the story?’

In the backseat, Molly sat rigidly, her arms crossed tight and a scowl on her face. She glared at him in the rear mirror, sniffed, and then turned her face toward her window.

Next to her, hands cuffed behind his back (an appeasing act for the sake of the DS he had slugged upon the Yard’s arrival), Sherlock was sitting uncomfortably stiff and staring determinedly out his own window.

They were like two similarly-charged magnets, an invisible force pushing them away from the other.

Realising he wasn’t going to get an answer from either, Greg resigned himself to a long, silent ride.

That is, until Sherlock had to go and put his gigantic foot in his slightly smaller, yet still gigantic mouth.

‘I just don’t understand why you’re so upset.’

Greg grimaced. He’d been married long enough to know that no good would _ever_ come of saying that.

Slowly, like something out of a horror movie, Molly’s head turned toward Sherlock. Her eyes were narrow slits and her lips were pulled back tight.

Was it just him or did the temperature in the car abruptly drop twenty degrees?

‘The Great Sherlock Holmes doesn’t understand something?’ Molly mocked. ‘Say it isn’t so?!’

Sherlock very nearly snarled, ‘Forgive me for not lowering myself to the average human’s intelligence level to discover the source of your irrational anger, but I’d rather not debase myself in that way.’

Greg considered pulling over for a moment and just kicking Sherlock out of the car. Let the idiot walk the forty kilometres back to Baker Street. Handcuffed. 

But then Molly spoke. Her eyes flashed dangerously and Greg swore he saw smoke come out of her ears and nostrils. ‘You want to know why this average, stupid idiot is so angry?’

By the slightly panicked look on Sherlock’s face, it seemed the Great Detective had realised his misstep. 

‘I’m angry because you,’ Molly poked him in the arm hard, ‘you great,’ _poke_ , ‘big,’ _poke_ , ‘pompous,’ _poke poke poke_ , ‘ _neanderthal_ , were almost killed tonight! Who said you had to push me out of the way?! I can take care of myself! I’m not some bloody helpless damsel in distress!’

Sherlock had scrambled away from her and huddled in the corner of the seat. ‘Why the _bloody hell_ are you upset? I saved your life, you should be grateful!’

‘Grateful that you almost got killed?!’ Molly shouted.

‘But I didn’t!’ Sherlock retorted. ‘And even if I had been, it would have been worth it to keep you safe!’

Molly glared at him, enraged. ‘I’m not important and I’m _certainly_ not worth dying for!’

Sherlock eyes flashed in fiery rage. He sat up and leaned toward her, until they were almost nose to nose. ‘You have no right to say that, your life is _invaluable_ to me!’

‘What makes my life so ‘invaluable’ to you?’ Molly spat. ‘Because I keep you in body parts?’

‘No!’ Sherlock denied it vehemently, red with anger.

‘Because I clean up after you, let you do whatever the _hell_ you like in the lab?’

Furious didn’t even begin to describe Sherlock’s face by now. ‘No, Molly, just shut up-’

But Molly continued on, shouting to talk over Sherlock. ‘Because I’m convenient and a pushover, always on hand if John’s not available?!’

‘Because I love you, damn it!’ Sherlock bellowed.

‘Well, I love you, too!’ Molly shouted back.

They both fell into stunned silence. 

His ears still ringing from the shouting match, Greg peered hesitantly in the mirror. They were staring at each other, faces blank as if processing what they had both said and heard. 

Finally, Sherlock cleared his throat and turned to look out his window. ‘Well, I’m glad we got that cleared up,’ he said disinterestedly.

Hurt flashed in Molly’s eyes before she turned her head away. ‘Yes. I suppose so.’

Greg silently cursed the Great Consulting Idiot. With a sigh, he propped his arm on the door’s ledge and rested his head against his hand. Still another twenty minutes to go. And if he thought the ride before the fight would be uncomfortable, _after_ promised to be unbearable.

But then Sherlock said, ‘Obviously the next step is marriage.’

A chorus of horns erupted around them as Greg nearly ran them off the road in surprise. He straightened the car and met Sherlock’s amused gaze in the mirror. 

His swerving had dislodged Molly, who had fallen against Sherlock. She had caught herself, one hand on his thigh and the other caught between them.

‘Really?’ She asked dubiously.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulder dispassionately, but even Greg could see the twinkle in his eye as a genuine smile spread across his face.

‘Oh, you stupid man!’ Molly declared and grabbed his cheeks, hauling him close to snog him thoroughly. An act to which Sherlock happily complied. Very happily.

 _Erm, okay, not wasting time then._ Greg cleared his throat and determinedly did _not_ look in the backseat, even as he pressed on the gas just a little harder.

He needed to get them to Baker Street before Sherlock managed to get out of those handcuffs.


End file.
